


Sign Language

by Tarnit



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 20:16:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3394982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarnit/pseuds/Tarnit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Rung has recovered from the encounter with Fortress Maximus that took his head from his shoulders, Whirl must make sure the little therapist does not end up like him. </p><p>Requested by anonymous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sign Language

The bashing and clanging and general noise making was notably absent as Whirl made his way through the halls. Optic dimmed in what passersby speculated to be a murder in the making and not a thought deeper, his claws clicked and spun absently at his sides. Even Cyconus’ brief presence as the ‘ex’ Decepticon made his way to Swerve’s was not enough to draw the helicopter from his internal focus. 

Finally coming to a stop, the halls around him long since quieted, the slender blue helm raised, monovision centering on the door before him. The scratches and shallow dents were familiar; some had even been left by his own claws in a spiteful show of vengeance against the one who could make him feel again. 

Whirl was here for neither appointment nor violence today. 

The door slid open with a simple push of a button. He didn’t bother to knock, he knew the other would not be seeing patients for another few days. Stepping inside, yellow light from his optic dimmer than usual, the helicopter glanced around the repaired office. Same colours, same style of furniture, same blasted replicas lining the walls. This mech really never changed, despite that he preached and encouraged new differences in others. 

An orange movement caught his attention, the therapist as unobtrusive as his lack of reputation proclaimed. Almost wasn’t a surprise the slagging tiny mech survived the war, able to dip beneath even the once Wrecker’s battle keened senses like that. 

“Whirl? I was not expecting to see you until next week for our appointment; is everything alright?” Rung took a careful step closer, expressedly unafraid but moving in deference to the tense air the warrior carried with him. 

The soft glide of the door shutting once again was the only answer offered as the helomech narrowed his optic, taking in the smaller Cybertronian’s state of being. Not a weld mark out of place, and those still visible were healing nicely. Despite his less than honourable thoughts about the medic, Ratchet did a damn good job with his work. 

He’d get another chance later to swing at Fortress Maximus, Overlord’s slagging lap mech more like it, for what had happened. Right now, he had more important business to take care of, and it was staring back at him with concern scrunched eyebrows. 

Still wordless, Whirl closed the distance between them with a few great strides. Tipping the flat side of one claw under the therapist’s chin, his single optic whirred and focused. Yep. Good as new..or old, considering the many millennia this mech had seen. 

Rung was motionless, trusting, beneath his touch, a reaction that once would have infuriated the unstable Cybertonian. He was almost thankful for it now; it meant Rung wasn’t going to resist. 

Nodding to himself, his gangly arms suddenly scooped the therapist off his feet, drawing a yelp and a surprised flail from his ‘captive’. He ignored the now worried calls of his designation in favor of carrying Rung to drop him into his office chair, a partially started replica he’d noticed upon entering lay in pieces on the desk. Whirl nudged the chair closer, trying to direct the other’s attention towards what he wanted. 

“Whirl? I-I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Eyebrows were now dipped in confusion as Rung tipped his helm back to look past the turret chest to Whirl’s optic. 

With a gusty sigh, he reached for the other’s hands with a grumbled, “Gotta do everything myself, don’t I?” Guiding the slim fingers to the miniature ship parts with his own cumbersome claws, the helomech pressed them down onto the pieces and held them there until he heard a soft “Oh.” of understanding. 

For once opting not to question one of his longest standing patient’s motives, Rung began to move his hands of his own accord. Familiar with his favourite hobby, the quiet mech fit pieces together with a steady hand. So focused, he never noticed the single optic staring intently at his thumb, its orange paint a little brighter, fresher, than the rest of his hand. 

As the not entirely uncomfortable silence dragged on, a small clang filled the room, Rung startling as Whirl’s oblong helm dropped onto his shoulder. The deadly claws opened and closed for a painful moment before the helomech gathered the orange hands within them, displaying the most care his therapist had ever observed. He didn’t want to harm his...his friend...

“Good...you haven’t forgotten.. That’s good, Eyebrows...you don’t want to forget…” 

Thin, orange fingers turned to curl delicately around the curve of each claw. Both thumbs, new and old, rubbed steady circles over the blue metal. 

“I’ll teach you again, one day,” Rung promised in an equally soft tone before falling silent, allowing Whirl the chance to mourn for what had been lost so long ago.


End file.
